


Imperfect Rose

by sleepy_sendhelp



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst?, Family Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_sendhelp/pseuds/sleepy_sendhelp
Summary: It’s Thomas’s turn to apologize and make an effort.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 96





	Imperfect Rose

**Author's Note:**

> hi! This is kind of a part two for my other fic entitled “Mother Knows Best” but they can definitely stand alone. Bear with me I think I’ve falsely recalled that the engagement party happened somewhere near Christmas hahaha.

A minute. Two. Three minutes of deep breathing and wiping his hands on the thighs of his gear did nothing to calm him down. It seemed that he became more nervous instead, he felt cold all over and the tips of his sweaty fingers were numb, unable to feel the extra smooth stem of the rose that he slipped into his back pocket as he went downstairs.

His father stood by the door, his stern face an unusual sight. Gideon laid a large hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Stay calm and do it right, be careful with what you say, and when you return home later there better be a smile on your face, alright son?” he said. Thomas exhaled once more, nodding at his father’s sensible words. Just as he placed a heavy boot on the threshold leading outside, his mother’s voice called out to him.

“Do you plan on going to patrol without a single weapon?” both father and son wore identical looks of surprise as Sophie stood before them, a loaded weapons belt and her son’s bolas in her clutch, shaking her head.

“Don’t take dating advice from your father, keep in mind that he declared his intentions of marrying me over dinner.” she said, handing over the items to her pale son. She reached up and pinched his cheeks before he could move away, blood rushing to his face at his mother’s ministrations. He ducked out of her reach as soon as the cold nerves on his skin was replaced by warmth and anticipation.

“I thought we were over that.” Sophie ignored her husband’s pleading look, though the sly smile on her face was not to be missed. 

“Okay, I’m ready.” Thomas said, shaking his free hand to work off excess energy.

“No you’re not.” the stele pressed upon his hand once again surprised Gideon. Clearly, this was very important to his son if he forgot prepare for the actual patrolling part of the plan. What would they do without Sophie? It’s a fortunate thing for them never to find out.

Thomas’s plan of stepping out of the house was once again foiled, by his father this time. “I don’t mean to add to your worries over this, but you absolutely must come home victorious, because I had no proper excuse to tell your Uncle Will when I insisted you go on patrol earlier than he intended.” Sophie tutted at her husband. 

“You’re making it worse, look at him, his gear is soaked.” Thomas self-consciously sniffed at his clothes, hoping to Raziel that the dark material of his gear and the blowing breeze outside would cover up all traces of his plight, enough to at least look presentable. 

———————————————

It made no sense, despite all the sweat leaking out of every pore in his being, his throat dried up at the sight of Alastair who had his gaze trained somewhere else. Thomas became aware of the weight of the rose in his pocket. The moment, however onesided, bore down on him and he felt much like the delicate flower on his person. Can he do this? Will Alastair accept him? Or will Thomas go home with his petals crushed? He looked at Alastair who was seated at the steps leading up to the Institute, smoothly flipping a shiny throwing knife on one hand. Thomas could not help following the movement with his eyes, he was entranced. He needed to do this. 

“Thomas!” he jumped at the sound of his uncle’s voice. Uncle Will was there approaching the gates of the Institute with Aunt Tessa holding on to his arm. They looked as if they’ve gone for a romantic stroll, and knowing them, they probably have. Their pleasant smiles were radiant, only slightly dimmed by the curious yet suspecting looks they sent his way. Thomas averted his eyes and hoped for the best. 

After a brief greeting, Uncle Will gestured to Alastair who had already stood up. 

“You two will be patrolling together, I already gave Alastair your route. Stay safe children.” The couple bid them goodbye, and their patrol began. 

Silence. Awkward silence as they passed mundane establishments, unbearable silence as they walked along the bank of the Thames. Thomas didn’t miss the way Alastair stepped farther away from him as they neared the body of water. The rose in his pocket felt like a heavy lump of coal, something he knew he’d get from Saint Nick if those kind of mundane stories were real. He’d been a naughty, naughty boy. Blindly taking his friends’ side, even after Paris and the Academy when his friends were gone. The chill of the weather penetrated his bones. 

“Alastair.” He could not help the hurt that pierced him when he saw him flinch. The gravity of the words he let fall from his mouth that freezing night pulled on him now, dragging him down, down, down. Beating at his confidence. Who was he to talk to Alastair again? Not after what he’d done, not after what he’d said. The rose seemed so silly now, insignificant like his planned speech, because nothing could take back the irreparable tear through their… friendship? Relationship? He can’t remember ever feeling so unsure in his life.

His breathing stuttered when his eyes met Alastair’s. 

Alastair had been stealing furtive glances ever since Thomas whispered his name, but he’d appeared to have gotten lost in his head. Alastair was much too apprehensive to start a conversation, fearing that everything would go wrong when it couldn’t. There was still too much ground to cover, and he’d rather spend the rest of the patrol balancing on a tightrope, for it was ceratinly easier when he accounted for the vicious sharks awaiting him in the deep and deceptively calm waters below. 

“Alastair.” He pretended not to hear anything for both their sakes, but Thomas was persistent. 

“Alastair, I’m sorry.” That got his attention. The momentary falter in his step was all the encouragement Thomas needed. He blocked Alastair’s path, and he was helpless to fight back, he could never fight back when it came to Thomas. He found himself weak and giving in to this little segue, even if the distant threat of demons in the night lurked somewhere in the back of his head and in the streets of London. 

With trembling hands, he offered the imperfect rose to Alastair. There was something poetic about how the rose he’d worked to keep in pristine condition wasn’t able to escape the damaging effect of his worrying hands that obsessively patted his back pocket for the past half hour of their patrol, but nothing concrete came to him at the sight of Alastair’s confused visage. 

“I’m sorry for not listening to you, I’m sorry for believing the worst of you and for letting the past stain our present. I’m sorry that I failed you when you needed me to speak up, I’m sorry I didn’t stop Matthew— ” 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Alastair’s voice was hoarse, his eyes were on everywhere except Thomas. 

“That’s not true.” The useless flower was still suspended between them, it stood upright though the petals were frayed at the edges. It doesn’t matter how much his arm ached, Thomas wasn’t giving up. “I know a nearly crushed rose isn’t an iratze for what I did,” he grimaced, though seeing as Alastair pursed his lips, Thomas decided the unintended remark was worth it for that suppressed smile. “I should have known you had changed. I’m sorry for not defending you.” 

“I don’t need you to speak up for me.” He said. The feeling of missing a last step on a flight of stairs made Thomas sick to his stomach, that wasn’t what he meant. 

“I also, could not care less about what your friends think of me.” Alastair added.

“Okay,” Thomas swallowed. “I’m still sorry anyway. I’m sorry.” His next words he spoke to the rose, the thought of seeing what feels like the coming of outright rejection was too much, but not enough to deter him. 

“Paris,” he found himself suddenly breathless at the untimely onslaught of memories. “I don’t want to throw it away. Whatever you want to call Paris, I want it with you. Please.” This was the first time they’ve acknowledged Paris like this, the first time someone said that those two glorious days were something more. 

A beat, two, three moments of no response. And then…

Alastair took the rose.

**Author's Note:**

> huh… was that okay? 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! comments (feedback please idk how I did) and kudos are encouraged and very much appreciated! Also, come find me on tumblr, my writing blog is @sleepie-scribbles and my main is @sleepy-sendhelp <3


End file.
